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Friday, September 21, 2012

Food, Family, Friday: Memories of Mom

My mother used to tell me that I would never starve as long
as frozen pizza existed. It was
certainly true at the time, though regular readers know that my repertoire has
expanded somewhat.

But, frozen pizza definitely figured into my culinary
upbringing. Mom worked second shift, so
when I was a teenager she wasn’t around to make dinner for Dad and me. I was the last kid in the nest after my
siblings flew away. Dad had
retired fairly young (don’t be impressed, it was a good government pension,
nothing more). So, it was just us guys
once I got home from school.

The old man and I would often eat in shifts, both of us just
grabbing something from the fridge. Once
our small Midwestern town hit the big time we were able to go down to the KFC
for chicken. Hey, it was front-page news
in our local newspaper: “World Discovers
Us! KFC Coming.”

Or words to that effect, in big bold type.

But, the freezer was always well stocked with frozen
pizza. It was a staple on the grocery
list and it was dinner a couple times a week.

Frozen pizza was the first thing I could make that even
approached the status of a family meal.
It was also a snack, often shared with Mom when she got home from working at the
hospital at 11pm.

In college, I had a roommate in a small basement
apartment. He hated cooking as much as I
hated cleaning. So, we struck an obvious
bargain.

Frozen pizza was a staple on the shopping list and it was
dinner a couple times a week. Again. Mom thought her saying about frozen pizza and
my ability to stave off starvation was vindicated.

No recipes this week on Food, Family Friday. I’m sure you can figure out how to cook a
frozen pizza. This is more of a food
musing than a regular post. I’ll be back
in form next week.

I think about frozen pizzas as I return to blogging because
it’s a food connection to my mother. She
passed away a week or so ago. If you get
a chance this weekend, raise a slice to Gloria Thompson.

1 comment:

I am so sorry to hear that your mother is gone. I will indeed raise a glass to her. She reared a smart and witty son.

My mother was nothing if not inventive. On Saturday nights, she often took whatever leftovers were on hand and assembled pizza toppings, while I made the crust, usually with Bisquick. We added leftover meatloaf or sloppy joes, tomatoes, cheese, onions, mushrooms and of course, tomato sauce and popped it in the oven. Those homemade pizzas were better than anything I've ever eaten.

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About Me

My mother believed that anything worth eating was also worth frying. Mom's vegetable repertoire was limited. I was about 30, shopping with my California-raised bride, when I discovered that spinach was not naturally a bunch of green yuck that oozed out of a can.
Food and cooking is my hobby, my passion and a scholarly interest. It is also at the center of our family life.
Of course, Dad's cooking presents some unique hazards that are just built into the male DNA. It is said that men will only do things that are either dirty or dangerous and that pretty much describes the kitchen when I am in my frenzy. Early in our marriage, my wife would enter the kitchen and say some things that, well, can't be shared in a family-oriented blog, but you can easily find those words in other corners of the Internet. Over time, though, she discovered that there was a direct correlation between the level of utter destruction and the quality of the meal. These days, she comes into the kitchen, surveys the debris and says, "Oh, this is going to be good."